Three years ago today will forever go down as the worst day of my life. Hands down, no doubt about it, no questions asked. It was the day I miscarried our daughter. I can't and don't want to tell you every detail, but needless to say, I remember each and every one of them in vivid technicolor. People tell you that time dulls the pain, and to an extent it does, but not the pain in your heart. You eventually learn to function, to go out in public, to explain why you get depressed or cry when you hear of pregnancy and birth announcements, and to share why you wear a ribbon over your heart on the anniversary of her loss.
What never gets mentioned is the fact that things are never as bright, as shiny, as they once were. The best thing I can think to describe it is that finding out you are pregnant is like waking up in Oz. Everything is bright and shiny and wondrous and new. You have all these new experiences, meet new people, and suddenly belong to this elite group of "almost" moms. A miscarriage is like being picked up by the tornado and hurled viciously to the ground. Then life after loss is like waking up back in the black and white world. You got to visit Oz, but you never got to stay there. Your eyes will never see the colors the same way again. Then, the longer you stay in Kansas, the harder it is to remember what Oz was like. You remember the joy, the excitement, the hope---but they seem only like dreams. On the other hand, the tornado still seems all too real.
Does that make sense? That's about the best word picture I have right now. I know that there's another end to the rainbow, but it's been so long since I've seen it that it seems far away. That's not to say that I spend every day doubled over in grief. I've moved on, I've survived. But I haven't forgotten. I WILL NEVER forget. I have been able to make peace with things. It doesn't mean that I understand what happened, or that I'm happy with the way things turned out. It just means that I'm starting to see more than just black and white again. I was able to go through the entire day without bursting into tears. I was able to explain that the ribbon I wore today was in honor of Elizabeth, and said that without sniffing. I was able to say that with pride. I'm to the point where I am ready to make our name in the sand picture into a print and hang it where I can see it every day.
I am more than ready to become a mom. I want it with all of my heart. I'm taking baby steps to get there. I have to get through this doctor appointment on Thursday morning, and then we'll see from there. Whether I get told that children that look like me and my husband are an impossibility or that we have a chance, I am ready to find a path that leads to motherhood. Heaven help me, I'm ready. And willing. And waiting.